


Neon Vibrations in the Rain

by shereadwhatshewrote



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I'll add and/or remove tags as I go, I'll probably follow along the plot of a big chunk of it, Multi, Self-Insert, liz evans in the character tag is jus the self-insert OC, lord yall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-03-02 08:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18807946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shereadwhatshewrote/pseuds/shereadwhatshewrote
Summary: Self-insert fic for (probably) the first half of the Criminal Minds series. Takes place after season 1 episode 20 "Charm and Harm."Liz Evans is an accomplished violist barely scraping by, who becomes surrounded in murder after the brutal killing of her roommate and best friend, Cathy. She finds her in their apartment, beaten and drowned in their bathroom.





	1. The Beginning of an End

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% a self-insert. DLDR, all that jazz.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atypical day turned upside down.

The splashing of the rain at my feet didn’t bother me as much as the smell of burnt fries. Jordan must have gotten preoccupied again with the multitude of orders streaming in. I was finally off the morning and lunch shift, but the dinner rush was always more than one line cook can handle. I couldn’t stop to help, though. I’d get yelled at by angry customers for stopping my playing. Not that they tipped much for that, either.

It’s always tough to not get city rain in in your case when it’s resting on the ground and people are stomping by. Not that it mattered, I suppose, when I mostly got the leftover change from people walking out of the diner after their meals. The only problem was the warping of my viola if the case wasn’t completely dry. I couldn’t go more than an hour or two without her falling out of tune now, the notes becoming ever more sour and flat until I readjusted the nearly stripped pegs at the bottom. Today, though, a drunk girl in her late twenties delighted in stomping her heels to kick up as much water as she could in the case until I shot her a pleading glare and her date pulled her into Jesse’s. I dumped it out, stooping to pick up the sneakily rolling quarters and nickels. Forget the pennies, there’s no point in wasting time and energy picking them up.

Marla handed me a cup of coffee, premade for me just the way I like it and I waved goodbye before running off into the rain. She didn’t have to, and I’d offered to pay for them, but she always insisted that her waitresses get at least two cups of free coffee a day and what kind of manager would she be if she didn’t take care of her girls?

I made almost fifteen dollars, a little on the high end for standing under the diner sign on a Wednesday night. I swung by a gas station to pick up a pack of cigarettes and two flimsy sandwiches. Soggy and probably more than a few days old, but it’s what there was. Cathy and I hated cigarettes - despised them, couldn’t stand the taste - but a pack of cigarettes is cheaper than a week’s worth of full meals. At the very least it would suppress our appetite, and at the most it would turn our stomachs and we wouldn’t want to eat for being so nauseated.

I left the sandwiches and the coffee on the counter next to the key bowl, and went to change into something dry. I’d end up hypothermic if I wasn’t careful. Into a warm sweatshirt and thick socks, and back into the kitchen to cut the sandwiches into pieces. I called for Cathy, but she didn’t answer. Odd, she was definitely here and definitely wasn’t one to sit quietly in her room. I looked around, noting the discarded shoes, the radio and television that were powered off, the empty bedroom. Only place left to check was the bathroom, but the shower wasn’t running and she hated baths. I suppose she could have been taking one, so I knocked on the door and called for her again. No response. I was getting worried now.

I tried not to panic, her fear of drowning in her own tub all-too-present in my mind, and knocked harder and called louder. Why was my breathing so shallow? Why was my heart caught up in my throat?

The answer was apparent when I managed to jimmy the lock on the doorknob just so to let myself in. Cathy was limp and smeared an ugly red, her face resting in the water of the toilet bowl. I fell backwards and scrambled for my phone. My god.

_My God._


	2. The Start of a Profile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team reviews a case from the northwest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi sorry its been 80 years since I updated. I got kicked out of my parents place, stayed with friends, got a cabin, started two new jobs, my girlfriend moved away, etc. Needless to say, self-indulgent fanfic hasn't exactly been my top priority.

“Corvallis, Oregon. Four people dead over the course of two weeks, all with heavy blunt force trauma to the upper body,” JJ began the meeting, pausing to bring up ID photos of each of the victims. “Allison Clarke - nineteen year old college student, Jason Mindler, thirty-four, ran a gardening service, Jaimie Hasbrooke, twenty year old barista, and Catherine Vallin, twenty-two year old librarian. She was found by her roommate in their bathroom, and there’s evidence of antemortem drowning.” She pulled up pictures of each of the bodies, ending with a closeup of Catherine’s beaten face still in the toilet. She sat between Hotch and Morgan.

“Any sign of sexual assault?” Elle’s question was met with a silent shake of the head from both JJ and Gideon. “He crosses both gender and race lines,” Morgan said, holding up a picture of Allison, “and he doesn’t seem to care about age, either. So what is it about these people that makes him so angry? There’s a lot of rage here for him to be picking his victims randomly.”

“The addition of drowning to his previous M.O. of beating them to death is interesting, to say the least. It’s atypical for beating to coincide with drowning like this. It could mean that he now wants his victims to suffer more, because it produces a panic response that could alleviate his rage because it makes him feel powerful,” Reid piped in.

“We need to find out how he’s meeting these victims, and what sets him off.” Hotch stared down at the files, then stood suddenly. “He’s not showing any signs of slowing down, and he’ll continue to escalate. Wheels up in an hour.” He dipped out of the conference room, heading first to the bullpen for coffee, then to his office to call Haley. The rest of the team scattered, making minor preparations for the trip, grabbing go-bags, coffee, talking to Garcia about the information she needed to check in on before they got to Corvallis. They then headed to the airstrip, ready to begin building a profile.


	3. An Unorthodox Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz gets an unusual interview from a doctor in a sweater vest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I can write dialogue like a normal person  
> me to me: i CaN wRiTe DiAlOgUe LiKe A nOrMaL pErSoN
> 
> also pls im being u for feedback its been ages since I wrote anything

Sitting in the police station was overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time. No one was rushing around or screaming, but it felt like they should be. They should be as frantic and desperate and angry as I was. Instead they sat at their desks and sipped their coffee, filling out paperwork and having hushed conversations. I needed to get out of there, run, hit something, cry, anything but sit here and stew in the fact that Cathy was… Well. I needed to get out of there. But before I could run out screaming, the detective walked over with two tall men, one in a suit and the other in a sweater vest. I stood, hoping to god it wasn’t bad news.

“Ms. Evans, these are Agents Hotchner and Reid-”

“Doctor Reid, actually,” Sweater Vest said, looking sheepish.

“Right,” the detective sighed, and I could see him straining not to roll his eyes. “They’re here to talk to you about Cathy. If you’ll excuse me…” He ducked around a corner, obviously pissed off about something. I stuck my hand out, and the man in the suit, Agent Hotchner, shook it.

“I’ll talk to you,” I said, trying not to let the angry tears fall down my cheeks. “But I have to get out of here.” They nodded at each other, and Sweater Vest started walking towards the door, gesturing for me to follow. I did, my feet numb beneath me, making my strides uneven and forcing me to use the walls for support. I didn’t want to cry, not in front of police or agents - or doctors I suppose. “What kind of doctor are you? You’re not here to tell me about what they did to Cathy, are you?” God, if I had to hear the specifics of her injuries or how much she suffered, I just might lose it right here in the rain.

“I have three Ph.D.s, actually, in chemistry, mathematics, and engineering. I’ve also got three bachelor’s degrees, but I guess that’s not really relevant right now. As for what happened to Cathy, I was actually hoping you could help me with that.” He was mostly looking down at his shoes splashing in the puddles, sometimes across the street at oncoming cars.

“What do you wanna know?” We were nearing a coffee shop, and though my legs were becoming more steady, I still didn’t trust them. I opened the door, but Dr. Reid held it for me to walk in. Oddly a gentleman. Didn’t peg him for one. I stood in line, shivering and aching for a warm, caffeinated beverage.

“I’m mostly interested in what you saw during and before you found her. You said nothing seemed out of the ordinary?” His eyes were scanning the menu, then locked onto mine, then back to the menu. It was our turn. I walked up to the counter and ordered my coffee, extra room for cream and sugar. The doctor took it a step further, ordering a medium in a large cup. We headed to the little table with spices and spoons to fix our coffees up.

“Yeah, nothing weird. I came home and found her in the bathroom, what more could you get from that?” We sat at a close table, cradling our drinks for warmth. Unseasonably cold for September in Oregon, but I guess that’s why they call it climate change.

“Actually, it can tell us quite a bit. Your door, for example, was it locked when you got home?” I nodded, and he continued. “That means the unsub, the unknown subject, locked it behind him when he left. I need you to walk me through when you got home, please.” He had me shut my eyes, to try and relax, as if that was something that I could possibly be capable of right then.

“Okay,” I sighed. “I got back from the store. I unlocked the door, and set my stuff down. I looked around, but I don’t see her. I can’t hear her or see her, and the bathroom is locked. I can’t get in. God she was always so scared of drowning in the tub, I didn’t wanna find her floating there, I - I-” I had to stop, had to catch my breath. I opened my eyes when Dr. Reid placed his hand on mine. He looked genuinely sad, which didn’t make sense. He’s an FBI agent, he’s seen so much worse. Why did he look so… remorseful?

“That’s good, Liz, that’s good. It’s okay, there’s nothing you could have done.” I sniffled, wiped away my backstabbing tears, and shook my head. This was ridiculous.

“You know you’re the only one who’s touched me since I found her? Nobody wants to get near me, it’s like I’m radiating some sort of bitchy Touch Me And I’ll Stab You energy.”

He chuckled at this, giving my hand a little squeeze before letting go. I chugged most of my coffee, and stood up. A man bumped into me, spilling his drink all down my slide. I yelped and jumped back, almost tripping over my chair. The man yelled at me, telling me to watch where I was going. I flipped him the bird, which he returned on the way out the door. “Are you alright?” Reid asked, touching my arm. I shook my head, lifting the hem of my sweater to reveal a blistered burn along my ribs and hip.

“My apartment's two blocks from here. I know it’s a crime scene and all, but I need a change and some aloe.” He nodded, and we walked in the rain again, this time in silence. The one good thing about Corvallis is that you can walk anywhere in fifteen minutes.


	4. A Change in Methodology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch, Gideon, and Morgan head to the latest crime scene, which differs from the others in several aspects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall pls im beggin for feedback, ya boi needs to know how to improve lmao

“We’ve got more victims,” the detective half-shouted as he barged into the conference room that most of the team was occupying.

“Victims, plural?” Gideon seemed incredulous, almost surprised. Almost.

“Warehouse crew off of 25th found ‘em a few minutes ago. One male, one female. Says they look real bad.”

Hotch nodded, and gestured as he spoke. “Morgan, come with me and Gideon. Elle, call Reid and get him back here, we need his eyes on this.” She nodded, already pulling out her phone and speed-dialing. The rest of them headed to the parking lot, spitballing theories about the sudden jump to two victims and the change in dump sites, or lack thereof for these victims.

“He’s always left his victims in their homes, in garages, wherever he attacked them. What made him change to a commercial property?” Morgan mused aloud, tapping his fingers restlessly on the sideboard of the car. “We know he wants to kill these people specifically, it’s not random. That’s why he goes to their homes, why he’s comfortable beating them in abandoned places, too. Why the shift to somewhere he knows they’re going to be discovered quickly?”

“He knows that we’re onto him. He’s showing off. Look what I can do, I can beat two people to death right under your noses.” Gideon said quietly, looking out the window. Morgan nodded, ceasing his tapping and formulating theories in his head until they arrived at the warehouse a few minutes later.

Warehouse workers were milling about outside, barely constrained by the neon yellow tape surrounding the building and totally unbothered by the misty fog that was present in the city this morning. When would they return to work, they wondered. Why were people being killed here? After talking to the responding officers outside, the senior members of the team headed in to take a look at the scene. What they found were two people of differing ages and gender tied to chairs, head and shoulders mangled almost beyond recognition.

“That’s new,” Hotch stated, pointing generally at the chairs and bindings.

“So’s this,” Morgan replied, bending down to pick something up. He rotated it in the industrial lighting, which made the wallet-sized photograph look greyish-green.

Gideon looked regretful, almost sad. “Call Reid. Tell him to bring her back to the station with him. In the meantime,” he grunted, hunkering down next to the male victim, “let’s see what we can figure out here.”

They spent a long time examining the bodies and the scene. So far there were no fingerprints, no footprints, nothing to indicate that the assailant had been there at all, other than the bodies and the photograph. The photo was worn, like it had been removed and looked at frequently. The heart with an arrow through it on the back indicated a deep affection, possibly the illusion of love. The bodies gave less information, and without the M.E. report, they had little to go on other than the increased rage. Their faces were caved in, their skulls bashed and crumpled. The damage tapered off the further down the body they looked. Bruising and cuts dwindled around the clavicles, but the hands and forearms had defensive wounds. They fought back, but not by much.

“Gideon, the amount of anger here…” Morgan scoffed and shook his head.


	5. Locks and Aloe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Reid return to a ruined apartment.

Walking into the apartment was uncomfortable. I couldn’t look towards the bathroom at all. I kept my eyes down and away from the still-red room and the evidence markers littered around the floor, the counter. Dr. Reid stayed in the kitchen area by the door, examining the bowl of keys, the sticky notes and coupons on the fridge. I guess this was his job, after all, examining whatever evidence was still present. I tried to ignore his light footsteps as I walked to my room and gently removed my sweater. The blisters covered my whole right side, and went further down my back than I thought at first. The aloe gel felt cool and soothing, and left a sticky residue. I heard Dr. Reid take another phone call, but couldn’t at all make out what he was saying. I kept applying the gel, leaving a thick layer that would continue soaking in for a while when it was wrapped. Applying the wrap itself was tricky as moving around too much pulled at my hot skin. I was contorted with one hand sort of around my back with the other hand trying to reach the rest of the roll when I heard a throat clear behind me. I turned to find the doctor standing there awkwardly.

“Would you like some help? He offered. I hesitated, then nodded, gesturing for him to take the wrap from me. He stepped forward to take it, and his hands were steadier than my own as he placed the ace bandages carefully around my chest and stomach. He tucked the end in and I winced, earning an apologetic glance.

He cleared his throat again before speaking. “I got a call from my team. We need you to come back to the station.” He stood up straight, cleaning the goop off his hands with a towel that I offered. I sighed, moving to put on a T-shirt. The exhaustion of staying up all night after working all morning and finding Cathy was starting to really get to me.

“Fine, but only if I can sleep. I’m so tired, it’s all so unreal.” He nodded, and we headed for the door. He paused by the bathroom door, gears obviously whirring behind his eyes.

“Liz, was the bathroom door locked when you found Cathy?”

I nodded, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, I had to twist the knob around until it popped. Why does that matter?”

“Your bathroom only locks from the inside.”

 

-

 

We walked back into the station, ignoring the bustle of mid-day cop activity. The doctor walked into a room near the back filled with people. His team, I suppose. He talked animatedly to a woman with blonde hair up in a tight ponytail and the same man that was introduced to me before. Agent… something with an H. He pulled out a phone, and as I walked closer to the chairs by the door to that room, I heard him talking to a peppy woman on the phone about locksmiths and burglars. I couldn’t make out most of what was said, but she seemed to be compiling a list of some kind. I didn’t really care at that point. I rested my head against the wall and tucked my knees in close to my chest. My side stung a little, but it was comfortable enough or I was weary enough to drift off to sleep. It wasn’t restful and I woke up to the sound of voices frequently, but it was sleep enough for now.


	6. Closing In, if Only Just

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan gets some help from Garcia, and Hotch and Elle get some help from the medical examiner.

Garcia popped the phone buttons with her pen, finished with compiling her list.

“Hey, mama,” Morgan answered. “You all finished with that list of locksmiths with records?”

“Indeed I am, sweetness. Unfortunately, even with my super-sleuthing skills, we still got thirty-four names to knock out. Any way you can help me shorten it?”

“Alright, well now we know that he’s a stalker, he’s been on this girl, Liz Evans, she’s the--”

“The roommate that found victim number four, yep, got that down. So what am I doing, looking for records of peeping toms, undie sniffers, assault?”

“You got it, go back as far as five years. This guy didn’t start this kind of obsessive behavior overnight.” He was met with the clacking of keys, then a triumphant exclamation.

“That brings us down to twelve names, my gorgeous agent of the law.”

“Alright, baby girl, send ‘em on over to us.”

“Oh, honey, check your phone. I sent ‘em thirty seconds ago.”

“Love you, mama.”

“And I you. Now go, my prince, until we meet again.” Morgan chuckled and hung up, smiling and shaking his head at his crazy tech goddess.

 

-

 

The medical examiner was just draping a sheet over the latest victims bodies when Elle and Hotch walked in. He looked up, then pulled the sheet down again, doubtless that they would want to see the wounds post-cleaning. They were a mangled mess, bits of flesh and bone sticking out at odd angles. “Ain’t pretty, is it? They’ve both got some serious bruising underneath it all. He hit ‘em with his fists and some sort of blunt object, maybe a book or piece of flat furniture. You can see from the bruising here,” he paused to point to the bruising on the side of their heads, “that whatever he hit them with was flat and hard. And you can see here,” and pointed to the female victim’s neck, “that he choked her repeatedly. He didn’t do that to this guy here.”

“He only choked the girl. That could be a sign of repressed sexuality, considering the lack of sexual assault on all the victims.” Elle made this observation while leaning in close to see better. She straightened up, then looked at Hotch. “It’s not gonna be good if he gets to her. He’s gonna unleash all that rage, all that pent-up frustration and need onto her.”

“Well, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen. We’ve got her at the station, and that’s the safest place she could be right now. Thank you,” Hotch nodded to the M.E. before walking away. “Let’s go see what Morgan got from Garcia and deliver this profile.”


	7. Erotomaniacs and Menthols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz learns some new information about the case from Boy Wonder, and boy does she wonder if everything is her fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stayed up all night while I was writing so if it sucks thats why lmao

I woke up to the sounds of bustling, and opened my bleary eyes to the sight of cops leaving what looked to be some kind of presentation. I made to get up, and felt something move. Someone had draped their jacket over me. Odd. I shrugged it on, relishing the saved body heat. It was enormous on me, with the sleeves coming down almost a full six inches past my hands. I walked over to Dr. Reid, who was leaning against a table. Looked like he was leading the presentation, or some part of it at least.

“Look who’s finally up,” he joked, but his smile fell when he saw that I wasn’t reacting much to it. “What’s up?”

“You said earlier that you needed me to come back to the station. I was so tired, I just went along with it. But I need to know why, Dr. Reid.” I rubbed the gunk out of my eyes, trying to focus. I needed to concentrate on this, not on how troubled he looked or the little furrow in his brow. Why did he look so worried?

“We should probably talk to you about that. And you don’t have to call me Doctor Reid, you can call me Spencer if you like. Come here,” he gestured for me to follow, and I did, to the table in that conference room. Spread across the table were files and pictures and notes. On one wall was a map with pins in it. Spencer swept the files and pictures into one pile and sat down on the other side of the table. I did the same, scooting in like I was back in elementary school, back straight and eyes down.

He placed a picture down, some ID picture of a woman I didn’t recognize. He placed five more pictures down. Picture number four was Cathy. I remember when she got that taken, she was all in a tizzy about her hair being frizzy for the picture. It was just an ID, but that didn’t stop her from obsessing over it. The last picture, the man, was he--

“The guy that spilled coffee on me?” Reid nodded. “And that’s… wait that’s the girl that splashed in my case when I was playing after work. Spence, what’s going on?” He swallowed, then leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table.

“We think that the man who did this is an erotomaniac. He’s developed an obsession with you, and we think he’s hurting the people that he thinks wronged you.” He licked his lips, then looked down at the pictures again. “The only thing we can’t figure out is why he hurt Cathy. Considering the other people here, why do you think he would have done that?”

My head was spinning. “I-I don’t know. She would never do anything to hurt me. The worst thing she’s ever done was in the seventh grade, and I don’t think kissing the boy I liked really applies here?”

Spence shook his head, thinking furiously. “Anything at all, it could be something super minor, something that would bother someone trying to protect you from anything.”

I thought long and hard, the pounding in my head growing worse. “The only thing I can think of is that she started talking to her mom again. She was awful growing up, and Cathy bought her lunch to try and get her back into her life. That made us short on money, but it was nothing we couldn’t get past. It was only lunch.” My god, I had been the one to push her into buying. It’s not like her mother didn’t have money, but I didn’t want her to think that we were doing poorly without her. God, was this my fault? Did I kill my best friend?

“I-I need some air.” I stood up quickly, almost stumbling over the chair. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Liz, wait--” But I was already walking to the door of the police station on unsteady legs, trying not to let my watery eyes overflow. I stopped when I was just outside the door, leaning back against the wall and putting my head in my hands. I stayed like this for a few moments before I heard a voice.

“Want one? Looks like you could use it.” The offer came from a smoking man to my left, and he looked sympathetic, if tired.

I looked at the offered cigarette, considering. Fuck it. Who cares. It might even ease my headache. “Thanks,” I mumbled, and inhaled while he lit it. It was a menthol, I think. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t taste whatever was in it that made my eyes droopy and my face flush. I took a couple more drags, hoping it was just leftover sleepiness from my chair nap, but the feeling of droopiness and sleepiness intensified until I was nearly falling over myself. God damn it. Fuck. Why wouldn’t my arms move?

“Hey, you okay? You lookin’ a little…” The man didn’t finish what he was saying, only scooping me up into his arms and placing me in the backseat of a nearby car. The last thing I heard was the slamming of the car door, but the smell of menthol lingered for a long time, even after my eyes closed and I could no longer keep myself conscious.


	8. A Panic of Agents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elle notices a missing woman and rallies the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao this is totally a filler chapter to keep up with the first person/third person alternating perspective thing I have going. i'll probs quit that after this case, its getting rough to keep up with the pacing

The police station was nearly abandoned when Hotch and Elle returned from the morgue. Almost all the officers has been sent to interview the potential suspects or on increased patrols. Elle looked around, alarmed at not seeing the sleeping form of their charge in the chair by the conference room.

“Has anyone seen Liz? She was right here when we were giving the profile...” She was met with blank stares and head shakes. “Reid?” He looked up from the map he was studying, not having heard her question at all. “Liz?” She gestured around, then looked back at him.

He stuttered for a moment, then spoke. “She said she needed some air. You didn’t see her on the way in?”

Elle took a slow breath to calm herself. “Maybe she’s in the bathroom. I’ll go check on her.” Forcing her will to run into a brisk power walk, she made her way to the station’s women’s room. Empty. Her breath hitching, she checked the men’s room just in case. She startled a young officer standing at a urinal, who she waved and made an apologetic face at. Jogging back to the team, she loudly announced her findings and began ordering the closest officers to begin searching the building.

“Elle, wait--” Hotch began, but was cut off by Reid.

“Does the station have a camera pointed at the door?” The rapid-fire question was almost missed by the detective, who paused before nodding and gesturing to a door almost completely on the other side of the station. Reid didn’t wait to be led there, and was already dialing Garcia when he flung himself into the chair in front of a multitude of monitors, almost tripping over it in the process.

“Garcia, I need you to look through the station’s cameras and look for Liz. We can’t find her, but I know she stepped outside about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Alright, Boy Wonder, security footage of the front door from fifteen minutes ago coming right up.” Reid watched as the mouse on the central monitor twitched, then as the feed began reversing itself quickly. His eyes landed on a monitor in the lower left corner, which seemed to be positioned above the door itself. “Here we go, here she is coming out now.” At this point, the rest of the team, the detective, and a few curious officers had gathered behind the chair. They watched as the short figure of a woman collapsed against a wall, head in her hands. She looked up and to her right for a moment before accepting something that was offered by a hand just barely in frame. She placed her hands to her mouth, and almost immediately began swooning, almost staggering in place. The unseen person seemed to scoop her up, then they were both out of frame.

“Garcia?” Reid didn’t intend for it to come out as panicked or as strangled as it did, but he swallowed thickly and (im)patiently waited for her to respond.

“On it… got it. The next camera over grabbed something, but then they move out of frame. I’m sorry.” The team watched in silent distress as the monitor to the right of the front door camera blinked, revealing an average-looking man placing Liz on the floor of the back seat of his car before jumping in the driver’s seat and speeding away from the camera.

“I need you to get the make, model, and license plate, Garcia. Now.” Hotch kept up his steely expression as he nodded at the frazzled-looking Reid and Elle.

“Already on it, sir, but there’s no license plate on that car. All I got is that it’s a blue Mazda Corona. I’ll cross-check it with that list of locksmiths with records and get back to you.” A click from the other end of the line ended the call.

Morgan was the first one outside the station, looking around intently, especially at the ground. He found nothing other than a barely burnt cigarette. He flicked a glove out to pick it up, and sniffed it gently, head pulling away in disgust when he smelled something sickly sweet. He showed it off to Gideon and Hotch, who had burst through the door moments before him.

“Get that down to forensics ASAP,” Gideon ordered, knowing full well that a forensic workup would take significantly more time than Liz might have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you're reading, please consider leaving kudos or comments. They mean the world to me!


	9. Starlight Not Quite as Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz awakens in a dark basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrow long chapter y'all god bless

My god, my head was pounding. I couldn’t open my eyes. The small amount of light that filtered through my eyelids felt like knives were being bored into my sockets. I heard something shuffle in front of me, and I whipped my head around towards it. Big mistake. The pain in my head radiated down my neck and shoulders, causing me to tense up and remain still, not wanting my neck to explode into slivers again.

“It’s okay,” I heard a voice whisper directly in front of me. “I know it hurts, baby, but I needed to get you out of there.” Something touched my face, and I couldn’t control my breathing anymore. It came in short, tiny gasps that left me feeling like my chest was constricting around me. Wait, was that… something was tying me to the chair that I was seated in. I tried to steady my breathing, to no avail. I could feel every inch of my body, and it felt like tiny needles were driving into every nerve, like my whole body was being pricked at once from the inside out.

“Open your eyes, honey, I need to make sure you’re alright. Let me see those beautiful blue eyes.” Hands gripped either side of my face softly. I tried to force my eyes open, but the light was too much. I couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped between ragged breaths, a weak, pathetic sound. What kind of fragile bitch was I, making the kind of sounds damsels in distress in cartoons made? “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll turn the lights off, and light a candle. Does that sound good, baby?” I forced a nod, holding my throat tight to avoid screaming when I moved my head. The lights popped off, and I heard the sound of a lighter before a soft glow lit behind my lids, then moved some distance away.

Pulling my eyes open was a struggle. It felt like pulling apart pieces of cheap cheese that were stuck together. The food comparison turned my stomach, and I could barely make out the figure of a man kneeling before me before I flung myself to the side to heave the almost nonexistent contents of my stomach onto the floor.

“You’re okay, I looked everything up earlier, this is normal. You’re okay now, Liz.” The man in front of me was now wiping my face with a cloth, cradling it gently in his rough hands. “Do you want some water, sweetie? Some aspirin?” I mumbled out an affirmative noise, and he brought a bottle of water to my lips. Jesus Christ, my throat was a desert. He shoved a pill into my mouth, then poured more water down until I had to tilt my head back to avoid choking. “Silly girl, you got your shirt wet.” He pulled and tugged at my sweater around the cords that were binding me until he could lift it off my head, and placed it gently in a half-folded pile on the floor. “Let’s check on your side, huh? It’s about time for some more aloe, I think.”

He flicked out a pocket knife to cut at the cords around my torso. I tensed, and he stroked my hair in what I supposed was meant to be a comforting gesture. He gently helped me kneel in front of the chair. He snaked around me so that he could undo the wrap around my stomach and chest. He peeled it away and tutted at the state of my skin, and kissed my shoulder before moving to grab a bottle from his hoodie pocket.

“I-it’s not that bad,” I managed to grind out. “I think it just needs to air out.” The air did feel good on my skin. Leaving it wrapped for this long probably wasn’t good. Wait, how long ago did Spence wrap it back at the apartment? I slept for most of the day at the police station, so eight hours maybe. How long had I been here? Where _was_ here?

“Of course, baby, of course. Can I get you anything? More water, food? You have to be gentle with your stomach now, it’s gonna be a little sensitive for a while.” I nodded, and tried not to stiffen when he came back in front of me and put his hands on my face again. He was almost turning it back and forth, examining it in the dim light. My eyes were struggling to adjust, and I could make out the features of his face. It was long, and his nose was rounded and drooped almost to his lips. Altogether he looked average, not that that really mattered when he was doing… whatever it is he was doing to me.

“Is it okay if I turn the lights back on? It’s just string lights, I know they’re your favorite.” His lips lifted into a lopsided smile, like he was proud to know my lighting preferences. I gave a small shrug, despite the pain in my shoulders and neck. I should probably lean into this, play along and try not to upset him. The lights twinkled on, star-shaped bulbs that alternated between white and light blue. Fucker bought the exact same lights that I had in my bedroom. Wait… he probably knew that. Was he inside my house before he attacked Cathy?

“There we go.” Mr. Erotomaniac smiled at me, and blew out the candle before he brushed the hair back from my face and kissing my forehead. I tried not to let my disgust show through the shiver that rolled through me. He leaned back, sitting on his heels. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to be able to do this.” He brushed a hand over my shoulder, down my arm. “Just touching you is more than I ever hoped for.” He linked his fingers through my own. “I’ve seen you, heard you play, even-even smelled you as you walked past me. But holding you, the feel of your _skin,_ its… it’s unreal. You’ve opened my eyes, Liz, to a whole world just waiting for us. I knew it the first time I heard you under the sign at the diner. It was like…” He licked his chapped lips, thinking of the right words. “Starlight,” he sighed. “It sounded like pure starlight. I heard it here,” he said, gesturing to his ears, “but I felt it here.” He placed a hand on his chest, then one on mine. “It sounded like my soul. That’s how your soul sounds, too, Liz, don’t you see? Two halves of the same soul. We’re meant to be, and I’ve done everything I can to make this happen.” He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard. “Show me you understand, baby, I know you do. Will you play for me? Will you play the same song?” He grabbed for something behind him, and I heard his hand thunk on something that sounded hollow, like wood. He brought out my viola. Charlotte. _Motherfucker,_ did he take that from my house?

I took it, hands shaking almost violently. I tried to stand to sit in the chair, but I stumbled and he caught me, setting me softly down before passing me my bow. I could barely turn my head enough to place it on the chin rest. Raising my right hand to place the bow on the strings was agony, almost impossible. “I-I… I can’t do it. I’m-m sorry… baby.” I added hastily. “I don’t remember which-which one it is.” He looked disappointed, almost angry. God damn my eyes, now was not the time to cry. I got the feeling that showing vulnerability was not the thing to do in front of this guy. Seeing my tears, he stopped, leaning forward to brush them away with his thumb.

“Oh honey, sweetie, it’s okay. I know you don’t feel too good right now, it’s alright. C’mere.” He leaned further in, pulling me into his arms. He smelled awful, like oil and some sort of dirt. His hands roamed my hair, trying to get me to relax against him, but my form remained stiff and unyielding. “Baby, what’s wrong? What’s wrong, baby, talk to me.” His eyes searched my own, but I couldn’t make much out behind the blur of my tears, which were flowing freely down my chin and neck. “Don’t cry, it’s okay. What can I do?”

I broke. I couldn’t do this anymore. “I wanna go home, I want to leave. Let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” The shaking was back in full force, strangling my words.

“But you- you are home, don’t you realize that? Don’t you know that your home is always gonna be with me? Don’t you realize _everything_ I’ve done, I’ve done for you?” He was angry now, hands balled into fists at his side. “I hurt _everyone_ that hurt you. I killed them so _they could never hurt you again!_ God, why can’t you understand that?” He lashed out, smacking me across the face, then stood up to whale on the wall. I touched the corner of my mouth. My fingers came back bloody. Rage overcame me. Rage for my situation, rage for what I was being put through, rage for the unfairness of it all. Rage for Cathy.

“They never did anything to hurt me, especially not Cathy. She was my best friend for my whole life, and she never once hurt me the way you’re hurting me now. They never did anything to _you_ except piss you off. And you wanna know _why?_ ” I struggled to my feet, and got up in his ugly, lopsided face. “Because you’re nothing but an angry, obsessive _prick_ that can’t find anyone who would actually want you. So _fuck you,_ and _fuck_ your need to control me.” I spit up into his face for punctuation.

He was on me in less than a second. He slapped me across the face again, hard enough to knock me to the dirty floor. He began punching me, raining down blows across my face and neck. I couldn’t move, paralyzed with fear and pain. I could feel my skin split open in several places. “This was _not_ how _this_ was sup- _posed_ to _go!_ ” He punctuated each word with a blow. My eyes were rolling, trying to see past the stars swimming in my vision. He stopped for a moment, running his hands through his short-cropped hair. “I-I _loved_ you! You were supposed to love me, too!” I felt his hands encircle my neck, but I was so dazed that I couldn’t bring my hands up to fight him off before he found his grip. He squeezed, and I could feel my airway close off. No. _Not like this._

I put up a fight. I kicked, pulled at his hands, tried to buck him off of me. I couldn’t, I was weak, not strong enough, not fast enough. My vision was fading, too fast. The last thing I could see before it blacked out completely was his face, red and veins bulging, hovering over me. He didn’t just look angry, he looked sad, almost sorrowful. I wasn’t his starlight anymore, that’s for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you're reading, please consider leaving kudos or comments. They mean the world to me!


	10. A Close Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team closes in on the unsub, and Reid makes a close save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((filler chapter what filler chapter)) haha jk... unless?

Finding the owner of the blue license plate-less Mazda was tricky for Garcia, but nothing could escape her wit for long. She cross-referenced everyone from her list of locksmiths and burglars with car deeds, rentals, any sort of car ownership that she could think of within the state of Oregon. When that turned up empty, she had to start thinking outside of the box. Family members, friends, and coworkers of the original men were added into the mix, including those that lived within the surrounding states. This produced an interesting result: a man in his mid-twenties whose father owned the specified car. He had no employment records, no housing records, nothing at all to indicate that he existed outside of his state ID and recent enrollment in a trade school at Oregon State University. Digging deeper, Garcia found his recently digitized birth record, which consisted only of the father’s name. Sifting through records almost faster than her eyes could track, she located a newspaper article about a woman in rural Oregon who had elected to give birth in her home instead of a hospital. With growing horror, she sped through the article, then went on a research rampage until she was sure that this was the man who they were looking for.

“What have you got, Garcia?” Hotch had picked up the phone quickly. His team was pacing, restless without any leads to where the unsub had taken Liz.

“I think I’ve found him, sir. Henry Miller, twenty-four. He wasn’t listed in any employment records or leases, so I had to cross-reference all the friends, family, and cowork--”

“Garcia, do you have an address? We don’t know how much longer we have to find her.” He was impatient, as the rest of the team had begun to gather around the table where his phone now lay on speakerphone.

“Yes, I do, but I don’t think he’s at the apartment that his dad was renting for him. He died, about two months ago, and the lease lapsed so he couldn’t be staying there anymore. I think he’s at their old house, where his mom died. He bought it back with the inheritance he got from his father, but it’s about twenty minutes outside of town.”

“Text us the address, we’re on our way out now. Keep going, Garcia, we need all the information we can get.” The team bustled around the station, grabbing vests and guns, and telling the detective what they found out. He offered car support, but was declined with the explanation that too assertive a law enforcement presence in the unsub’s private home would cause a violent overreaction.

 

-

 

Fifteen minutes later, two black SUVs pulled up to a house south of Corvallis proper. The lights and sirens were on for the drive, but for the past five minutes they had been off. They didn’t want to tip Henry Miller off to their presence. He might panic and dispose of the object of his affection.

The team spilled out of the cars, quietly discussing their entrance strategy. Gideon, Morgan, and Hotch approached the front, and Elle, JJ, and Reid headed around back, hoping for a quieter backup entrance. They entered almost silently, walking into front and back doors simultaneously. They stalked throughout the large house, calling out to each other after each room was cleared. They met in the middle, rotating to look around for other floors. JJ gestured to a pair of stairs leading up, then stairs leading down.

Half of the team began the journey down while the others headed up. Everyone paused, tense and strained, when a creaky step sounded off. They waited a half-second, but their continued travels were interrupted by the door at the bottom of the stairs bursting open, a man flying through, catching them by surprise. Morgan almost had him by the scruff of his hoodie, but it was shrugged off in favor of escape. He and Hotch took off after him, quickly exiting the house and heading down the street. The rest of them resumed their search, more urgent.

Reid was the first one downstairs. His eyes flung around the room, landing on the motionless form on the floor. “We need a medic,” he half-shouted behind him, then rushed to kneel down next to Liz. She was beaten, rather badly. Cuts had been opened along her jaw and forehead, and they were oozing at a glacial pace. He felt for a pulse, and it was weak and irregular. Immediately, his hands were on her chest, compressing rhythmically. Steady up, steady down. “C’mon, you need to _fight,_ Liz.” The mumble came out between the motions of his arms, unsteady and desperate.

A cough finally erupted from her chest, harsh and gravelly. Her face contorted, twisted behind her ragged breaths. Reid almost sighed with relief. He began checking her over, noting her injuries. Her biggest injuries were the bruises around her neck and face, and the biggest medical concern was monitoring her airway for collapse. She was going to be okay. _Liz was going to be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you're reading, please consider leaving kudos or comments. They mean the world to me!


	11. Giddy in a Stretcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz awakens in the basement to a concerned Doctor Reid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally free of the alternating perspectives! It'll probably just be first person from now on.

I woke to the feeling of my chest ripping apart. It happened again and again, and finally I realized that it was coughing. I cleared my throat, and it felt like a thousand tiny splinters were lodged in it. I forced my eyes open, acceptance heavy in my chest as I expected to find the man responsible for me losing consciousness in the first place

Instead I lifted my lids to find an angel, leaning slightly over me with one hand on the ground near my head. His brown eyes were searching me over, and I could feel him running his hands over my jaw, cheekbone, checking for broken bones. His hands were warm, soft, strong but gentle. It took me a long minute to place him. Spencer. Spencer Reid, FBI agent. He looked up after a few moments, and moved to the side. I felt hands lifting me, then I was placed on something soft, almost bed-like. A stretcher. I was being moved. No, no, no no _nonono,_ my eyes wouldn’t focus, my stomach was turning. I flung my hand out, searching for something to steady myself. It grabbed something warm and firm, something that held back. A hand. When my eyes were finally reporting only singular versions of things, I managed to look up to the hand, up the arm to the owner. Still Spencer, still there. Hands still as steady as when he wrapped my side.

Being carried up stairs in a stretcher was an awful experience. The wobbling, the shifting, the people changing positions around me was overwhelming. I finally gave up and shut my eyes, wanting to curl inward to escape but found myself strapped in and my neck immobilized by a stiff piece of foam. I tried to take steadying breaths, but there was nothing I could do but wait it out. It was brutal, but I managed to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged. That, or there was nothing left to spill.

Before the paramedics could load me into the waiting ambulance, I waved and gestured and somehow managed to get across that I needed a minute. Spence got left behind in the house, and I needed to say… something. I wasn’t sure what, but I needed to talk to him. The last paramedic, a woman with her red hair up in a braid, patted me on the shoulder and gave a sympathetic look before meandering over to talk to the driver.

Spence didn’t take long to exit that house. He looked around, and an older, shorter man in plaid and khakis nodded over to me. He began walking over immediately, wiping the blood on his hands off on a small towel. He was finally close enough to hear my weak voice.

“Hi,” I croaked. _Dammit._

“Hi, yourself.” He noticed me struggling to get words out, and pulled a small notepad and pen from his pocket. “You probably shouldn’t try to speak right now, your airway’s a little--”

“Fucked up?” The words were almost a whisper, but I still couldn’t help the half-smile that quirked my lips. I shook my head and reached for the little book, intent on writing pretty much the only thing that could come to mind.

_Thank you._

He shook his head, almost bashful. “You don’t- you don’t have to say thank you, I was only doing my job.” I rolled my eyes and gestured to my side. “I wasn’t- that was just- I was only trying to help, you- you looked like you were struggling, and--” Wow, that was weirdly adorable. I cut him off with waving hands, and I would have been laughing my ass off if my airway could have taken the pressure. Maybe it was the not-quite-dying, but I was elated, almost giddy. I scribbled on the pad again, plopping it on my legs so he could grab it.

_Just teasing! :P_

The paramedic was back, softly telling me that _I really did have to go to the hospital now._ Spence smiled, and tucked some hair behind his ear. He made to walk away, but I managed to grab on to the end of his long sleeve. “Stay?” God damn did it hurt to say, but my sentiment remained the same.

He smiled again, ear-to-ear. “Only if you promise not to speak until the doctor clears you. You don’t want to permanently damage your trachea.” I whacked him on the upper arm.

Smiling so much on top of what had been done to my face was starting to be a bit much. As we settled into the ambulance and it began moving, the tiredness and pain had begun coming back in full force. I could feel them upping my painkillers, but that did nothing to soothe my anxiety, it just kept making me sleepier. I didn’t want to panic, didn’t want to seem like a scared little kid afraid of falling asleep because of nightmares. So I kept my eyes open. But I was tired, so tired all of a sudden.

I felt Spence lean down by my ear. “It’s alright to sleep, you know. We’ve got you now, Liz, go ahead and sleep.” I shook my head, fumbling for the pen. God, my fingers wouldn’t work properly. My question came out lopsided, letters bumpy like a fifth grader’s.

_Promise you’ll stay?_

“I promise,” he whispered, and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I promise.” I let my eyes drift closed, and the gentle rocking of the ambulance, the medication, and the light pressure on my hand had me asleep in less than a few minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you're reading, please consider leaving kudos or comments. They mean the world to me!


	12. Loopy in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hospital room, a nurse, two doctors, and a patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow can u tell that I was actually on painkillers while writing this?
> 
> Also!! This fic is now on tumblr. Since I have family and friends that I definitely don't want to see it, I made a new blog: neonvibrationsintherain.tumblr.com - I'll also be posting art and headcanons and whatever else relates back to this fic.

Beeping. Beeping and antiseptic, those were the sensations that brought me back to the surface of consciousness. And then the pain came. Brutal, aching _pain._ My jaw and head were pounding. I could feel every beat of my heart through them, my own private EKG. I struggled to open my eyes, and found the blank white ceiling of a hospital above me. Casting my eyes around the room, they landed on Spencer, sitting in a chair against the wall and eating a jell-o cup.

“Stealing my food now?” My croak startled him a bit, but he smiled wide anyways. He scooted the chair close to the bed, and settled back down into it.

“You’re still not cleared to speak, you know. They brought in a whiteboard and marker, but I may or may not have used it up doodling.” Sure enough, the book-sized whiteboard resting on my shins was filled with oddly-shaped doodles. People with long fingers and lumpy eyes dominated it, but he had begun sketching the outline of my bed in a bottom corner. He passed the marker to me. It wouldn’t write. He really had used up a whole marker. I looked around, looking for a pen and paper. Seeing me look around, Spence grabbed the notebook from his pocket again.

_How long was I out?_

He looked at his watch, then back at me. “About three hours. I’m actually surprised it wasn’t longer, opiates at that dose tend to have a half life of four to six hours, and considering the extent of your injuries, it’s amazing you’re as lucid as you are.” I shook my head. It felt fuzzy, like cotton had been stuffed between my ears.

_Am I safe?_

He nodded, and propped his feet up on another chair. “That’s why I’m here. He got away, but we’re looking for him right now. As far as he knows, you’re dead. Me being here is just a precaution.” I rolled my eyes.

_Yeah, that’s why_

Oh man, that blush was picture-worthy. He stumbled over his words, finally opting to just shrug. I laughed, a wheezy sound that left me breathless. I swallowed, trying to moisten the Sahara in my mouth. He wordlessly passed me a glass of water, and pressed the nurse call button. A hassled looking nurse bustled in, checking my vitals and noting them in my chart.

“Any pain?” I nodded, and she fiddled with my IV. I felt a cold line flow up my arm, and the fuzzy head feeling intensified. “It’s a good thing you’re awake, you’ve got a mild concussion and sleeping and head injuries don’t usually mix well. I’ll grab your doctor.” She gave a tight-lipped smile and left. I sighed, settling further into the bed. How long would I be sleepy like this? Time seemed to move slower. I didn’t realize my eyes had closed until they snapped open when a cell phone rang. Spence answered it.

“Yeah? That’s good… I’ll let her know. And JJ? ...Yeah, actually. Thanks.” He put his phone back in his pocket, and he looked a little less tense. “They got him. He tried to drive out to California, but we had roadblocks up.” I nodded. I felt a little loopy, and I leaned into the feeling. I gestured for the pad of paper again. He pulled his hands back, but I grabbed one of them and held on while I wrote on the pad. It came out full of curves and connected letters.

_Thank you for staying. And for this._

I drew a little picture of two hands holding. He chuckled and squeezed my hand. Whoah, his fingers felt warm and weird in my own. I spread his fingers, running my pointer finger along each one and tracing circles on his palm. Loopy as hell. I linked our fingers together again, and I looked up to find Spence staring at me with a bemused expression. I shrugged, and used my other hand to make a spiral over my ear, the universal gesture for I’m A Little Fucked Up Right Now. I stuck my tongue out at him and took another sip of water. I heard heavy footfalls coming towards my room, and I shut my eyes. I didn’t want to deal with doctors.

“I’m asleep,” I whispered as the doctor rounded the corner into my room. I heard the doctor walk towards my bed, sigh, and pick my chart up. After a few moments he walked away, and I could hear him calling for a nurse. I opened my eyes again and laughed a little. I was acting ridiculous and I knew it.

“You know you can’t avoid the doctors forever.” I looked at him then, brows drawn in concern and eyes flicking across my face.

“I just need the one.” And I booped him on the nose. He seemed taken aback by that, but the sleepy side of the painkillers was starting to kick in. I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, content to just lay there and drift off. For the second time that day, I fell asleep holding the doctor’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you're reading, please consider leaving kudos or comments. They mean the world to me!


	13. Readjusting to the Mundane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz settles back into her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dabs* this is trash *whips* my life is falling apart *nae naes* enjoy the steaming shitshow I guess *fornite flosses*

I woke groggy, but the pain was almost completely gone. By the look of the light outside my window, it was probably around 5 p.m. I could hear people milling about outside my room, but the sound that I was most drawn in by was the sound of light footsteps by my bed. Spencer was standing, putting his jacket on. He was leaving.

I cleared my throat, and it didn’t hurt too bad. The sound drew his attention, and he looked up at me, an apologetic look marring his otherwise even face. “Heading out?”

He nodded, checking his phone. “We caught your stalker. Technically, our job here is done. I’m supposed to be on the jet in an hour.” Oh. Of course. I don’t know why I had expected him to stick around. He must have seen my disappointment, because he sat back down, and grazed my wrist lightly with his fingertips. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just a phone call away, you know.” That goofy, lopsided grin was back, and damn it if I didn’t smile back at him.

“Are you giving me your personal phone number, Doctor Reid?” He nodded, placing a slip of paper in my lap.

“It seems I am. We’ll land in about six hours, so feel free to call me, Liz.” I nodded, picking up the paper. A number was scrawled on one side, a drawing of a monster brushing its teeth on the other. I chuckled, and when I looked up, he was waving by the door. I waved back, already missing the presence by my side.

 

-

 

Readjusting wasn’t any sort of journey I was prepared for, or expected. My mother, my kicked-me-out-of-the-house-at-sixteen-and-told-me-to-never-come-back _mother,_ had come to visit me in the hospital. Apparently she had seen what had happened in the news, and had flown down to see me. I doubted that it was purely out of love and concern, because I saw her several times on the news giving interviews outside the hospital. Even if she didn’t support me emotionally, as she only actually visited me twice, she did deposit into my bank account a hefty sum. “Your inheritance,” she had admitted once I got the notification on my phone, that she had kept after her mother died ‘for when I really needed it.’ I had never met Gramma, so I wasn’t exactly torn up to hear about her passing, but the fact that she withheld it and where her grave was cut deep. How little did she care for me, if she kicked me out and only thought of me when she had something to gain from it?

I used the money to grab a cheap apartment with two roommates. I didn’t plan on staying long. I needed out of here. My comfort zone, the area around my former apartment, my old job, everything reminded me of Cathy and what I had been through. I needed to leave, to escape the crushing feeling in my chest whenever I glimpsed her favorite cafe, when I heard that I was in the hospital and had missed her funeral, when I had to collect my belongings from my apartment.

So I applied to jobs all over the country, mostly for orchestras and music mentor programs, a few private tutoring services. Anywhere that would accept my skill set, really. I got a few replies, but none interested me more than the invitation to audition for the National Symphony Orchestra in D.C. It was a high profile gig, one that I had considered a long shot to get into. It was the _National Symphony,_ for Christ’s sake. I used most of the remainder of my belated inheritance to buy a round trip ticket to D.C., and sat with my head in my hands. The idea of spending so much money on a big possibility of rejection was making me dizzy and lightheaded. I waited for it to pass, and made my way to sit on the side of my bed. Flopping down, I pulled out my phone, and scrolled through my list of contacts. My little brother, my friend Rebecca from college… and Spence. I hadn’t talked to him in a few days. Our phone conversations had been fun, but petered out a few weeks after I got out of the hospital. I had gotten busy, and he had his cases to deal with, and it just sort of got put on the back burner. I wanted to talk to him though, wanted to bring back that giddy feeling I had when we had our often hour-long talks.

I pressed his name, and waited for the call screen to pop up before placing the phone by my ear. I laid back against the pillows, relishing the sweet anxiety about hearing his voice again. He picked up after five rings. I was sure he wasn’t going to pick up, and jumped a little when I heard his voice sound off on the other line.

“Hey, it’s been a while. What’s up?” I grinned, shooing away a stray roommate who had peeked behind my door and was making kissy faces at me.

“Not much, just kinda living life. I uh… I actually have something to tell you.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“I have an audition for the NSO in a week.”

“Hey, that’s great! They get over a million visitors every year, that’d be a great way for you to get back into performing on a stage.”

“Yeah, I really doubt that I’d get in though. The people there are crazy good and I haven’t played in a group since college.”

“Oh, please, I’ve seen the videos people take of you on YouTube. You’re amazing, and you’re definitely gonna get in.”

“All I can do is try my best, I guess. Hey, I was wondering, um… I’m gonna be in D.C. for a night, and I was wondering if you’d like to get a coffee or something?” Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck, why was he pausing so long?

“Y-yeah, I’d really like that, actually.” Oh, thank god.

We talked for a time. He told me about his favorite coffee shops and cafes and bookstores, ‘the best places in D.C.,’ he said. I told him about my mother, and how I had gotten a new place, how I was coping with everything. It was nice, and I wished it could have lasted longer but I heard someone on his end say that they had a meeting. We promised to talk soon, and the click rang in my ears for half a second before my roommates busted out giggling. I put my hands over my face, embracing death as I curled into a ball. The chorus of Liz Has A Boyfriennnnnd prompted me to fling a pillow at the door, which sent them scattering back to their dens. Fuckin’ weasels.

Over the next few days, I tried to get my life completely in order. I filled notebooks with plans and to-do lists, and packed for my trip. I had to buy something quasi-fancy to audition in, and finally settled for a white blouse and a black pencil skirt. Simple, but fancy enough. It fit nicely in the bottom of my bag, wrinkle-free and folded neatly. Next were the shoes. I hated heels, but they boosted me past my usual 5’2” frame and into normal-people height. Good to appear at least average, right?

Eventually, my roommate dropped me off at the airport. I was doing this two-punch audition and coffee meetup combo whether I was ready or not. I waited at security in Portland, not at all enjoying the stale air and smell of sweaty feet. I was through security when I got a call. I expected it to be my brother, checking on me before my flight. I was mistaken.

“Hey, Spence, what’s up? I’m at the airport, if it seems noisy.”

“Oh, I know, you told me when your flight was. I was just, uh, checking in?” What a sweetheart.

“Yeah, I’m-I’m good, just nervous about playing in front of people whose job it is to judge my skills. You know how it is.”

“I can see why you’re nervous, but I promise you that it’s gonna go great.”

“You flatter me, Spence. I gotta go, though, they’re boarding now. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Safe travels, Liz.” I smiled and hung up.

Boarding was a breeze, but that’s the easy part of flying. The hard part is the six-hour flight with crying babies and farting grandparents and stewards that forget that you’re allergic to peanuts. All for a chance for rejection. I put that thought out of my head and tried to breathe deep as we took off. Staring into space was my only option, as I couldn’t concentrate on the book I brought and the snacks in my bag were wholly unappetizing. I hummed, tapping my left hand fingers on my leg in almost-subconscious practice for my coming performance. The man to my right glared at me in irritation before I silenced my tapping. Jerk.

I forced myself to breathe through the irritation. No sense in wasting time and energy hating the man next to me if he was going to be pressed against me for the next five and a half hours. Better to keep calm and centered, forcing myself to read the same paragraphs in my book until I took in the meaning and settled into the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you're reading, please consider leaving kudos or comments. They mean the world to me!


	14. Berlioz's Harold in Italy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the big audition. Liz is nervous, city streets smell weird, why are auditoriums always so loud?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see lmao. got caught up in life again.

We landed, and I left the airport as fast as I could. Couldn’t stand the stiff air, the throngs of people pressing in from all sides. I hailed a taxi, thankful that I could snag one without too much of a wait.

The hotel was clean, if dingy around the edges. Shower first, freak out about this audition later. The water came out hot, almost scalding. _Perfect._ I jumped in, lathering myself with the hotel bar soap and hating how dry it made my skin. Next came hair, but thankfully I had remembered to bring travel-sized bottles of my own products. Hotel shampoo was the _worst,_ and left my hair a frizzy mess.

After I had cleaned the stink of the plane off, I dried myself with a fluffy towel and moisturized, relishing in the sweet vanilla smell. I glared at myself in the mirror, willing my hands to stop shaking by grabbing onto the sink, knuckles turning white with the force. I stood there for a few minutes, contemplating. I wanted to come off as professional, but also not as ugly as my bare face.

It took me about fifteen minutes to apply my makeup. Simple foundation with the barest hints of contouring and blush, filling in my brows until they were actually visible (curse my natural blonde hair!) and mascara. I stepped back, trying to see if it was too much at a slight distance. I brushed out my eyebrows some, terrified of them looking blocky or like they had been painted on. I wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to the sticky feeling that coated my skin, the darkness of my lashes lining my vision. Oh well. Time to steep some tea, see if I could calm my nerves some. My audition wasn’t for another couple hours, so no point in wasting it fussing over something that wasn’t even important to begin with.

I dressed while my tea steeped. Pulling my new blouse over my head without getting paste from my face on it was difficult, but I managed. Nylons next, and I thankfully managed not to make any snags. Tugging the skirt up over my hips, I decided that it probably looked best with the shirt tucked in, and I was right. I left the shoes off for now. I definitely didn’t want my feet to be sore for this thing, especially if I was seeing Spence after. That thought nearly made me choke on my chamomile. Ohhhh fuck, what if he thought I looked stupid? What if he thought this was a friend thing? _Shut up,_ I mentally scolded myself. _This is a friend thing, he’s just being nice!_

The next few hours were agony. I had nothing to do, my book being finished about halfway through the flight. The TV had only a few channels, mostly sports and the weather and cartoons. A crime drama was on channel 13, but the heavy breathing and violence reminded me all-too-much of my stalker, of being watched. I switched it off, settling for doodling on the hotel pad of paper, swoops and spirals and eighth notes. Wait, why was I drawing scores? I needed to distract myself, not dwell on this interview.

I was overthinking everything. I needed to zone out, try to relax and not focus on the nerves twisting my stomach in knots. I set an alarm on my phone, then laid on the bed, trying to let my limbs feel heavy and relaxed, started counting by sevens. Eighty-four, ninety-one, ninety-eight, a hundred and… five? Yeah, five. All the way up to the four hundreds.

_BR-R-R-R-RINNNNNG_

A sigh, a slap of my fingers on the screen. I was doing this now or never, and this opportunity would probably never come around again. The clacking of my heels on the floor and concrete, the smells of gasoline and smog on a busy street, the thumping of a car door locking me into the taxi. Sensations felt magnified, like seeing a video of yourself up on a projector, bigger than life and profoundly irritating.

I’d looked up pictures of the building, so I was prepared for the sleek edges, the white with tan supports. I wasn’t prepared for the size. It had to be at least a hundred feet tall, stretching above the trees that gave it a nice border against the water on one side. I steeled myself, forcing my shoulders to straighten, to lower them below the lobes of my ears. I kept my back straight and rigid when I walked in, and was surprised to find signs pointing me towards the auditorium. Oh _fuck,_ I was gonna have to perform on stage, wasn’t I?

I signed my name and song on a form, a kind of sign-in ledger. Ushered to a side room, I waited with a handful of other nervous people, an old man, a boy my age, a woman with jet-black hair with a grey stripe. There was little conversation, just the sounds of us tuning our respective violas.

When the woman was called, we all sat rigidly, not looking at each other, listening to the sounds of her audition. It was wonderful, the smooth slurs and charming sixteenth notes of Mozart. They must have had piano accompaniment for us, the sounds of deep notes and crescendos reverbrated in my chest in the way that only a piano could.

I was third. The clacking of my heels on the stage floor was loud, projected by the stage. It was the only sound, until I stopped and bowed before the group of people sitting in the first row of seats. A pause, the sound of my breath rasping in my ears louder than normal. And then, music.

I chose Berlioz’s _Harold in Italy,_ movement I: _Harold in the Mountains._ I wasn’t used to the sounds of a piano alongside the notes of my viola, but it merged quite nicely, I think, for not having practiced with whoever was on the keys.

I allowed my body to relax, to give in to the melody, swaying from side to side. My fingers were sure on the strings, held to their positions by years of training, weeks of practicing this song. I didn’t allow my practice to hold me to rigid notes, though, I let the vibrato roll, let my bow arm become languid and hard in key measures. From where I was, it seemed an alright performance. It was the best I could do, considering. Judges be damned, I was proud of myself for even getting on stage, let alone playing my heart out.

I bowed again, then walked offstage. A man handed me an envelope and shook my hand, and I was out of there. Couldn’t stand the sleek white walls, suddenly felt like they were closing in on me, needed fresh air. I sat on a bench a few feet from the water, not allowing myself to tremble. A quick slash of a finger and the envelope was open, detailing that consideration for the position may take some time, a letter would follow in a few weeks, thanks so much for applying. A typical exit note, I suppose.

I sat there for a time, until my rear grew cold from the bench and my cheeks felt wind-whipped. I couldn’t believe that I had actually done it, had gone through with the audition, and I didn’t even fuck up. Badly, at least. I’m sure there were a few errant notes in there somewhere, a squeak in my old strings, an odd measure or two. No, no, I did good. I played the performance over and over in my head, trying to recall any fuck ups, but nothing seemed to jump out at me as being wrong or sharp or flat. Damn it, _I did good,_ and I was just going to keep telling myself that.

A text broke me from my contemplation, my pride.

_Done with a case. Merge Cafe in 30?_

Right, my coffee date with Spence. I hurriedly typed a response, trying to remember the name of the taxi company that had dropped me off.

_Meet you there, Spence :P_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you're reading, please consider leaving Kudos or comments, they mean the world to me!


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